


Nameday

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [14]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Fluff, Gen, birthday fic, enjoy this clusterfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 03:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: It is someone's nameday. Most people, until now, did not know whose.





	Nameday

**Author's Note:**

> just pretend i posted this on the 19th

They do not know how, exactly, Ikael manages to find out (and remember) everyone’s nameday. Y'shtola is convinced he has bribed Tataru for the knowledge. Lyse believes it is “intuition, or… something, you know?” Thancred has suggested that perhaps Ikael simply notes them down in a little book he keeps locked in his bedside drawer—the second one, with the loose tumblers. Thancred has since been banned from further Ikael-based speculation.

However Ikael knows, he certainly never forgets. None of the Scions are especially keen on keeping track of how old they are getting, even the twins, and so celebrations are at a minimum. It is almost remarkable that, in defiance of this, Ikael manages to either find them and place a cake in their hands with a smile, or leave it in their rooms alongside a little heart-scrawled note. They have grown quietly used to this, although it was certainly amusing to listen to Alisaie’s flustered questioning the morning after her and her brother’s most recent shared nameday.

The problem with this whole arrangement, of course, lies in the fact that no one seems to know when _Ikael’s_ nameday is. Thancred had asked him once, while happily scarfing down carrot cake, and Ikael had smiled and shrugged and mumbled something about it being “later.” The next thing Thancred knew, he was being steered into a conversation about fabric softeners.

One of the more _irritating_ things about Ikael is the ease in which he manages to do… that. That _thing_. That. Half of Thancred's attempts at expressing concern or looking after the man end with Thancred being the one being overly-coddled and eating food he didn’t know he’d asked for. When Ikael is not _actively_ seeking attention (and oh does Thancred know how needy he can get when he is), it seems to sluice off of him like water. It is… unsettling.

The point of all of this being: no one knows Ikael’s nameday. At least, no one _knew._ Until now.

“For ’is nameday!” Gaill exclaims, in a very anticlimactic and unexciting moment. Nobody seems very impressed with this explanation. Y'shtola’s arms cross more tightly.

“You got the Warrior of _Light_ ,” Thancred very nearly threatens, “Off his bloody mind like a gaelicat on ’nip–for _fun?”_

Needless to say, this is not exactly the way he had hoped this revelation would come up.

Ikael seems to find his comparison absolutely _hilarious_ , and starts giggling uncontrollably, slowly slipping from Gaill’s grip. He, shockingly, does not seem to mind being half-cradled by a six-fulm tall shirtless hyur.

Y'shtola does. “Get him to the infirmary,” she tells not Gaill but Thancred, and he nods and moves forward.

“Hey, oi!” Gaill pulls Ikael back defensively. Thancred tries very hard not to grit his teeth. “What d’you think yer doin’, eh? ’Kael was the who wanted t’get smoked.”

“Right,” Thancred intones, scowling reflexively at that last sentence. “Because it was _Ikael’s_ idea to overindulge to the point where he could barely stand, and not your complete and utter incompetence that failed him.”

Gaill’s eyes narrow. “Now listen ’ere—”

“Hey!” Ikael chirps, sharp and loud, and they pause. Ikael squints at Thancred before shaking his head grandly and disapprovingly, furrowing his brow. “No yelling at Gaill.”

Then he laughs again.

“Thal’s gilded arsehole,” Thancred swears, and Ikael’s laughter turns slightly manic.

“This is a medical intervention,” Y'shtola interrupts, sounding about as displeased as Thancred feels, although less about to snap and stab someone. She is used to this bullshite. “Ikael is not exactly known for his substance abuse—did you not think to watch him, at least?!”

“I did! I was going to,” Gaill harrumphs, then tosses his hair. “Well. ’e said it was ’is first time, so I was gonna sit and do it with ’im! But then Simeon—useless sack o’ shite, that one—set ’is fishing rod on fire somehow, an’ I’d to go an’ ’elp, o’ course, and I wasn’t watching ’Kael an’, _well,_ I guess ’e ’ad more than I’d thunk, yeah?”

He laughs a little, somehow jovial. Ikael seems delighted at this, and shrieks even louder, starting to wheeze and shake.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Thancred repeats darkly.

“Thank you _very_ much for bringing him here, Gaill,” Y'shtola says in a tone that implies she is seconds away from impaling Gaill with the bottom end of her staff, “But now he requires _actual_ healing and care, despite your very… best efforts. Thancred, bring him in before he suffocates himself. I shall alert Krile and clear a bed.”

“Oi—wait, lady!” Gaill calls as Y'shtola turns on her heel. She stops. “What do _I_ do?”

“ _You_ find yourself a better pastime than poisoning one of our front lines of defense,” she snaps, spinning around, “and get out of our headquarters. Bake Ikael a get-well pie, if you are so truly concerned.”

“I didn’ poison ’im!” Gaill protests as Thancred coaxes a giggling Ikael out of his grasp. “’e did that to ’imself!”

Ikael cheers and stumbles forward in what he seems to think is an embrace, ungracefully collapsing on Thancred. Thancred lets out a low grunt at the impact.

“Trust a swivving child to take care of another one,” he mutters through Ikael’s bleating, hoisting him over his shoulder. It would be easiest to simply carry him; Ikael is more likely to hinder Thancred's advancement than help. He does not weigh overmuch, at least, although his tail is flailing wildly, and keeps nearly hitting Thancred in the face.

“Happy bloody nameday,” Thancred grunts sarcastically as he marches towards the infirmary, Ikael's hands tightly gripping the fabric of his coat.

He hears a small gasp, and then Ikael’s arms begin to slowly encircle his waist in what he seems to think is a hug.

“Thank you,” Ikael mumbles in a tight voice, sounding for all the world as if Thancred has just given him the compliment of his life. He does not seem to care that he is upside-down.

Well. That was not exactly the way Thancred had planned for this to go.

“You just—you just mean… _so_ much to me,” Ikael continues, voice beginning to thicken now. Thancred makes an agreeing noise and begins to walk faster, somewhat desperate.

“It’s just that… ‘s just that…” Ikael is beginning to get increasingly indecipherable. Thancred ignores him, because he has just spotted Krile, who waves him over hurriedly. He quickens his pace, snorting for a brief second when fur covers his nose.

“That bed over there, please,” Krile directs, and Thancred dutifully obeys, attempting to set Ikael down gently. “I heard it is his nameday! So I brought out our only yellow mattress cover. Ahem—well, it’s only that colour because it is cheaply made, but… he won’t care, right?”

“He probably does not even know,” Thancred grunts distractedly.

 Ikael does not seem to understand why Thancred is separating them. Thancred keeps firmly pressing him down, but—seven hells; with a grip like that, it isn’t difficult to believe that Hydaelyn chose Her strongest to fight for Her.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” Krile says, although the tilt of her smile makes Thancred certain she is mocking him. “Ikael, dearie, you need to let go, alright? You can hug Thancred later, I promise.”

Ikael immediately releases Thancred's collar when he is told to, and mumbles something with a smile before giggling and closing his eyes. He looks… ridiculous.

“I will leave before my teeth begin to rot and fall out,” Thancred announces. Krile quirks an eyebrow, and he huffs. “Do not give me that look; he is intolerable right now. I cannot deal with that without alcohol.”

“Of _course_ , Thancred,” Krile intones, her back already to him. “Now, Ikael, what is it you had a little too much fun with, hm…?”

Thancred's eye twitches suspiciously, but he decides to let her work, turning on his heel with a decidedly un-Gaill-like toss of his hair.

~*~

“As much as I loathe to admit it,” Y'shtola is explaining, “Gaill was… not entirely incorrect. The drug is, in effect, harmless, and would have passed out of his system within a few bells. Or perhaps a day, given his intake—which we still do not know for certain, but I am sure is not a very well-thought-out amount. Regardless, we have drained it from his system. He helped, actually, once he realized what was going on.”

“Helped?” Her sense of Thancred shifts—he has raised a questioning eyebrow. Y'shtola tilts her head.

“Yes. Although him slicing his palm open without warning was somewhat alarming, even with the belated explanation about detoxication. Something about rechanneling energies—nothing overly aetheric in nature, so frankly I did not pay it much mind.”

Thancred draws in a breath—probably to speak again—but there is a new presence rapidly coming towards them, and Y'shtola turns to them instead.

“We just took it out of the oven,” Alisaie delivers breathlessly, bending over her knees. “We… are supposed to wait for it to cool before icing it, right? Should we chill it magically?”

“If Alphinaud thinks he can manage, I am sure he may try,” Y'shtola replies, beginning to walk to the kitchens. They follow. “But if he does not succeed, it is Ikael’s cake he is ruining.”

“A heavy weight for a boy,” Thancred states gravely, and Y'shtola just about stops herself from rolling her eyes. Alisaie either does not sense or agree with his sarcasm, and only walks in worried silence.

“Be calm. Your role model’s assessment of your merit is not going to depend on if he gets an iced cake or not.” Y'shtola is somewhat amused, she will admit.

Alisaie makes an indignant little noise. Y’shtola can sense Thancred turn his head away, no doubt to hide a smile. Alisaie manages a scoff.

“Again with that! Listen, I simply respect the man, is all. And… seeing as he is something of a culinary expert, it is natural that I wish to make something that isn’t a _complete_ failure.”

“He is actually fairly easygoing on amateurs,” Thancred offers, sounding entertained by this conversation. “And if you ask him, he will let you help him bake while doing most of the actual work himself. So you develop a false sense of accomplishment, I suppose.”

Instead of an immediate reply, there is a short, poignant pause. Y'shtola smiles internally and wonders what it was. Bread rolls? Probably bread rolls.

“Y'shtola!” That is Alphinaud, apparently relieved to see her. “Thank the Twelve Alisaie found you on such short notice! Do _you_ know when you are supposed to apply the icing?”

Y'shtola reaches out towards the cake. She can feel the heat coming off of it within a few ilms of actually touching it.

“It is a bit unorthodox, but Alisaie is right,” she says, one ear flicking distractedly as Thancred wanders off—perhaps to check on Ikael. “Chill it first, but do not overdo it. What colour is the icing?”

“White,” Alisaie replies. “We could not make it yellow; we must have _some_ limits to how low we are willing to stoop.”

“That is fair,” Y'shtola agrees.

Alphinaud flexes his fingers, and Y'shtola idly hopes that he will not accidentally set anything on fire this time.

~*~

“Thank—ah, ah—thank you, Krile,” Ikael stammers, blinking rapidly. His memories of the past bell are… hazy, but he is certain he had not actually told anyone that it is his nameday. How does Krile know? Is that something healers can simply… do?

Mages are strange, so perhaps, he decides. Either way, he is touched. He gives her a smile.

“You are very welcome!” Krile crosses her arms. “Now as a gift, take my advice: you stay out of trouble for at least the rest of the day, do you hear?”

Ikael laughs softly, leaning forward to give her a gentle hug before rising from his cot. He is lucky he got one of the cheaper ones—it is yellow.

“Understood,” he says with a short bow, and Krile shakes her head, although she is smiling.

“Lyse wanted to see you, I believe,” she tells him as she reaches for a potion on a low shelf. “She, ah… happened to pop by today. You’ll find her near the markets. And no rush! Take your time.”

She gives him one last smile, which he returns readily, along with a little squeeze to an ear of her hood. He thinks it is cute.

He leaves squeezing his own ears, wondering if he can dye them yellow somehow.

~*~

“What do you mean he’s… No, Krile, I didn’t—! Oh, damn it!”

Lyse looks very agitated from the back. Perhaps she will be less agitated if Ikael helps her. He tilts his head, considering. Maybe he will bake her those little rolanberry cream cupcakes. She likes those.

“Lyse?”

Lyse jumps, and shuts off her linkpearl with a flustered twitch of her hand. Ikael thinks it is a bit rude to simply exit a conversation like that, but she seems… strangely anxious, so he is sure Krile will understand.

“Are you alright?” He smiles at her. “Krile said you wanted to see me?”

He wonders what needs doing _now_. On his nameday of all days, too. Ah, well. Ikael scratches at his cheek idly, filtering down his disappointment until it turns into apathetic complacency.

“I… yes! Well.” Lyse moves her mouth for a few seconds, looking like she is trying to speak but does not know which words to say. Ikael waits patiently; he has nothing truly important to do today, although he had hoped to have time to bake everyone a cake for his nameday. Perhaps he can still squeeze it in.

“Actually, you know what? Might as well. Here goes nothing!” Lyse is speaking to herself again; she does that often. Ikael keeps waiting, watching a little curiously as she straightens up and squares her shoulders.

“It has come to my attention that… well… it’s your nameday! Happy nameday, Ikael!” She does a little cheer, and Ikael stares at her, nonplussed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Here; we bought you a present—well, _I_ bought it, since everyone else is busy with the cake. I, uh, didn’t have time to wrap it, but here you go!”

And so saying, she unslings a small shopping sack from her shoulder and thrusts it forward towards Ikael. He blinks, taken aback, before carefully accepting it.

He looks inside, reaching down to fish the contents out—and gasps when his fingers touch soft, silky fabric.

“It’s soft!” he says excitedly, ears wiggling in glee as he momentarily forgets about attending to whatever task Lyse is going to assign him. He squeaks and digs further into the sac, quickly pulling out the gift.

It is a lovely—a _lovely_ —sheer silk robe, a touched blushing pink. Ikael squeals and immediately slips it on, twirling around. It goes down to about his mid-thighs, although the sleeves are full. It is _lovely_. Ikael _loves_ it.

“Look at this! It is so nice! I love it! Thank you! You’re the best—blonde—friend I’ve ever had! Thank you!” Ikael rushes forward and squeezes Lyse tightly. She laughs, squeezing him back.

“I am so glad you like it! Thancred said that it was a bad idea to give you more things to mix and match for your wardrobe, but what does he know? I knew you’d like it.”

She is smiling at him. Ikael smiles back, happily and warmly. He can already think of so many things to pair it with! He has some nice socks, he thinks, that will match. Bright blue ones.

“Wait,” says Lyse. “‘Best _blonde_ friend?’”

“Thancred is horrible at fashion!” Ikael exclaims, ignoring that question to give her another hug. Then he squints at her, pulling back.

“What… cake?” he says suspiciously.

“Oh!” Lyse’s face lights up. “Right! I… don’t know if I was supposed to mention that to you yet, but oh well! Can’t do much about it now. The others are baking a cake for you! I think Alphinaud and Alisaie wanted to take over on that front, you know? Oh, why are you making that face?”

“… I was going to bake a cake,” Ikael admits, tugging at his ear. “Since, you know… that’s what you do, yeah?”

Lyse stares at him for a moment. “Ikael,” she says, “You’re not the one who’s supposed to do the cake-baking.”

“You don’t like my cakes?”

“What? No, that’s not what I—Your cakes are wonderful, Ikael. But you… it’s _your_ nameday. Not ours. That was the whole point of this! We wanted to do something for _yours_ , since you already try to bake for all of ours.”

Ikael tries to think about this. It does not make any sense, in his honest opinion—he is a lot better at baking than they are, and thus everyone involved is less likely to go home with an upset stomach. But Lyse is looking at him as if he is daft, so he figures he will just agree with whatever she says.

“Sure!” he pipes. That seems to satisfy her, because she sighs in relief and smiles.

“Ikael! My fine furred fellow,” exclaims an obnoxious voice that can only belong to one man. “It has come to my attention that it is your nameday! Happy nameday! I have a wonderful surprise for you, if you—”

“I told him about the cake,” Lyse interjects.

Thancred stares at her before sighing. “Of course you did,” he mutters. “After all, what are secret surprise parties to a blabbermouth?”

“ _I’m_ the blabbermouth? Right—because _I’m_ the one who’s so overly fond of my own voice I write poetry about it.”

“My dear Lyse, it is my sacred _duty_ as a bard to chronicle only the most exquisite—”

“Shut up! Please shut up!” Ikael starts flailing his hands, at first to express himself and then for fun as the silk shimmies and flaps about. “Thancred, look at what Lyse bought me!”

Thancred gives him a quick once-over. “Her fashion taste almost does yours justice,” he says.

“Why, you—mm. Hm! Thank you.” Lyse is giving Thancred a strange, tight sort of smile. Perhaps she has a toothache; poor dear. Ikael will make her tea later to soothe it.

“In any case, I have been told that your mystery surprise top-secret cake is finished!” Thancred gives Ikael a gleaming smile, which he happily returns. Then he starts running towards the kitchens, partly because he is excited, and partly because he is scared they might have broken his ovens.

He spots Y’shtola and the twins nearby. Alphinaud and Alisaie area leaning together near a table, speaking in hushed voices, but Y'shtola is closest. So Ikael runs at her first, sticking out his arms.

“Look! Feel it! Feel it!” he exclaims, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. They all look up when they hear him, and Y'shtola reaches out a hand. Ikael dutifully sticks his arm directly near her face.

“… It is very soft, and no doubt incredibly expensive,” says Y'shtola. “I’d advise you to return it, and get back the small fortune you spent on it.”

Ikael’s face falls a little. “Uh… Lyse bought it for me, actually,” he mutters.

“Oh.” Y'shtola blinks, then pats his arm. “In that case, it is very thoughtful of her. Unless it is yellow, of course. Happy nameday, Ikael. We have baked a cake for you.”

“So I have heard!” Ikael says, his good mood returning. Alphinaud steps forward to give him a short bow. How adorable.

Alisaie moves as well, and now Ikael can see the table behind them has a cake, utensils, and a stack of plates. A right party, then!

“Happy—ah… Happy nameday, my friend,” Alphinaud says, his voice getting a little muffled when Ikael hugs him and ruffles his hair with a coo. “I hope you are alright with plain old vanilla.”

“With the right person, I like nearly anything,” Ikael reassures him, a bit confused as to the odd change in topic, but not questioning it. “I do not really wish to speak with you of all people about my sex life, however.”

“Oh gods,” says Alisaie, as Alphinaud squeaks indignantly.

“I-I meant the cake!” Alphinaud exclaims, completely scarlet. “I—dear gods, I did not need to hear that.”

“It is not my fault you are thirteen,” says Ikael, who is used to Thancred. Alphinaud makes an odd squawking noise, and Ikael gives him a little pat on the head before gently pushing him aside and moving to look at the cake. “Ooh! Who did the icing? Good job, whoever that was! It looks lovely.”

“Thirteen,” Alisaie repeats faintly.

“That was Alisaie.” Y'shtola sounds amused. “She took great care with it. We all tried our best, in fact. I do not quite know why; I would have figured you would have toppled from sheer stupefaction at the first ‘Happy nameday.’ Did you? I am going to assume you did.”

“I woke up on a medical cot, so probably!” Ikael tells her cheerfully. He grabs the nearby cake knife and cuts a neat slice, laying it on a plate. Then he glances back to do a headcount—and spies Thancred and Lyse not too far away, having hung back to let him speak with the twins and Y'shtola. And Ikael will of course cut a piece for Krile, and perhaps even Urianger, wherever he is, and—is that Gaill far over there? What is he doing here?

Ikael starts to carefully cut the cake, and idle chatter starts up behind him as everyone gets together. Ikael thinks he overhears the phrase “as high as a moogle flying a kite,” but that does not make any sense, so he ignores it.

He serves everyone cake, and is met with a chorus of thanks and _Happy nameday!_ s. He sits between Gaill (who greets him with “Atcha, ‘Kael!”) and Thancred (who glares at Gaill) before beginning to happily gobble up his cake. He is surrounded by the greatest, most faithful, and most loyal people he has ever known, and he is so, _so_ glad he is their friend.

Needless to say, this is, quite literally, his best nameday ever.

~*~


End file.
